Freaky Fred Memorial Institute for the Insane
by Treacle Parcheesi
Summary: The final hour, will and naughtiness of Fred the Freaky Barber.


**Freaky Fred Memorial Institute for the Criminally Insane is the name of the nut house where many of my fanfiction bad guys end up; it's like fanfiction's own Arkham Asylum, if you'd let me flatter myself :P Mortimer McMire spends a lot of time here, Iggy Koopa lived here, as well as his brother Ludwig... And now, we're going to look back through our favorite barber's eyes on its conception.**

* * *

><p>Barbara Barber clutches her handbag anxiously as the nurse shows her to the intensive care unit of Nowhere General Hospital. She is the only one on my contact list at the Home for Freaky Barbers who could come at this short notice. You see, I am on my deathbed and don't have much time for this world. Barbara has been hesitant. After all, I cut off more than our engagement the last time she saw my. But my aunt Muriel has insisted that someone be there with her to make his last hour bearable.<p>

Barbara is the only daughter of a wealthy dog food factory owner, and I met her at a dog food tasting competition. Her father tried to lure my dear aunt into revealing the secret ingredient in her special Blue Ribbon dog food. And she almost did, when she saw how well her nephew and her rival's son were together. When Muriel discovered Mr. Barber's scheme, however, a rolling pin was bashed over the latter's head.

"Mr. Fred is right over here, miss." The nurse shows her past a sign that reads:"No dogs allowed".

I am all wrapped up in bandages, the exception being my fingers, which looks like coal. Although I am restrained to the bed, Barbara pushes her chair further away before sitting down. She has taken all the necessary precautions; such as rolling her newly grown ten feet of blonde hair up in a tight knot.

"What happened to you, Fred?" she asks so tenderly.

I can't reply, as I've been put in a coma to help me through the excruciating pain. But I can still hear her through the morphine. I wish so much to roll my head over so I can see my true love once again, because the answer to her question is just as crazy as it is... _naughty_.

* * *

><p>Hello, my new friend, my name is Fred.<p>

If you are reading this, then I am long dead.

Sit down and listen, and open your head

To everything… _naughty_.

Besides the paintings and array of indoor plants, The Home for Freaky Barbers had seen better days. Ah, I remember, in a desperate attempt to gussy up the place before the county control commission arrived to inspect the Home, all of the _residents_ were made to paint colorful pictures. All of which were so shocking the commission didn't stay very long.

I was headed to the common room when I overheard some of the dialogue. I know it is naughty to eavesdrop, but something compelled me to stop outside the door to the conference room.

"The condition of this hospital is subpar!" an angry man snarled.

"And it wouldn't be, if we had a decent budget." That was Dr. Dilworth, the chief of medicine talking. "The county has given us the choice between hospital maintenance, and patient care. And here at the Home, residents always come first."

"Mould inside the walls, leaky pipes, faulty electrical wiring," a female voice read from a substantial list of shortcomings. "This place is a death trap, doctor. So we're giving you the choice between bringing it up to code or closing it for good. The patients here will be transferred to other state hospitals…"

"I will not be threatened by you, nor have the residents scattered to the winds like unwanted heirlooms!" Dr. Dilworth obviously did not respond well to threats.

Neither do I.

The door was flung open, and the trio of inspectors marched out, followed by Dr. Dilworth and the head nurse. He looked at me with a sad smile.

"Please go upstairs, Fred. Everything's alright, I promise."

* * *

><p>But everything was not alright. Three days later the report came back from the county's board, and the outcome was not favorable. The inspectors had been quite naughty, as a matter of fact.<p>

I remember playing a game of cribbage with another resident when Dr. Dilworth joined us in the common room. He, who normally had an unbeatable spirit, looked sad as he stood before us. In Barber College our teachers taught us, the students, that people rarely want a sad or upset hairdresser to take care of them. That why I almost always have a smile on my face.

"Good evening, everybody," he said friendly. "It's so nice to see you all getting along. I'd say you have all made so much progress."

I looked to the left, and I saw a fellow resident, Mr. Todd, wielding a silver razor handle. I looked to the right, and see a man with half his own hair missing, with an electric razor similar to mine. Right of ahead of me was that young makeup artist with the long, red locks…

"Why are you so sad, Dr. Dilly?" She asked before I could act on my _naughty_ thoughts.

"Because I have some sad news for you. The county said they want to shut down The Home, and have you all transferred to other homes."

Everybody started murmuring, and all of us were upset by the news.

"Why?" the young lady asked. "We're not welcome here anymore?"

"Of course you are. We landlords here care so deeply for each and every one of you. That's why we from now on must stick to a budget. Everyone will be issued a battery-powered night light and rations of soap, shampoo and conditioner. All of you must take extra care to turn off the light when you leave your rooms. We won't be able to afford many fancy dinners or field trips like we used to, but remember, this is only until I have fixed this place up."

I reached my hand in the air. "Doctor. Maybe we should open a barber shop here, run by the gentlemen residents, and a salon run by the ladies…?"

Everybody clapped their hands. Dr. Dilworth hesitated, but he mostly gave us the benefit of the doubt when we applied for privileges. How else would I get a permission to leave on _holidays_?

"Excellent idea, Fred. You'll be in charge of this, of course, and I'll watch out for you."

In the beginning, the people downtown, as well as the local authorities, the district attorney and His Holiness had a problem with our arrangement. But it didn't take long for people, due to our salon and barber shop's low prices and wide range of services, all from shaving and hair care to dyeing and piercing that the customers were inevitably drawn to our Home.

In spite of the implications that seemed inevitable, the landlords kept such a keen eye on us that no naughty incidents found place. In just months, the Home was up to code, and the county had no other choice than to give Dr. Dilworth the budget he was entitled to.

"And as a reward for your commitment, all of us will go on a holiday to the summer home in New Hampshire," he said at the Thursday evening assembly. "Also, we'll be serving all your favorite foods for dinner tomorrow. So please, let's make a list."

"Lasagna would be great," one of the residents said.

"And peach pie." The young lady with the irresistible red locks interjected.

"Can we have cookies and punch?"

"Frank and beans!"

Everybody was happy, and there was a jolly atmosphere the Home hadn't seen for a long time. After the meeting, I went up to my room to pack for our _holiday_. My favorite green suit, my trusty red razor and the picture of my beloved aunt Muriel… Where was it? I couldn't find it. After searching for it for a while, I realized that it had been confiscated after my last _holiday_.

I went down the stairs to ask if I could have the picture back, when I could have sworn I saw someone very familiar. I followed them.

It was the lady from the committee. What was she doing here, unless she had some _naughty_ business to take care of?

She was headed for the electricity room, and I followed suit, until a hand landed on my shoulder and most rudely startled me. I turned around; it was Dr. Dilworth.

"Dear Fred, what are you doing down here?" He asked.

"There's a lady in the basement, doctor," I replied. "And I smell a rat."

He looked in the direction of the cellar, and then sighed. "Fred, remember the talk we had about the imagination?"

"I do, but I also insist that I saw someone enter the cellar, Dr. Dilworth."

"And I think it's time for you to take your medicine and go to bed. Everything is alright now."

His tone was caring, albeit just a little patronizing. But I decided not to be _naughty_ and took the nightly dose as prescribed. Very soon I fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Someone opened the door to my room, and I heard an alarm blaring, as well as people screaming. The air was thick with smoke.<p>

"Fred, get up," the nurse said distressed. She had a coat over her shoulders, and straightjacket in her arms. The landlords didn't put us residents in them unless we had been acting particularly _naughty_, but were required to carry them on excursions outside the home. It gets pretty cold out, you know.

"What's happening?" I asked as she guided me out as calmly as she managed.

"The Home is on fire," she replied, even more distressed. "Please come with me. This is very bad."

Suddenly, a door exploded, and set the hall ablaze. The fire devoured everything in its path more greedily than any razor I've worked with.

"Mother of God!" the nurse panicked and dragged me with her. We ran, but then I heard someone screaming inside a door that had been blocked by burning debris.

"Help us!" It was the young woman I've gotten to know these last months. She coughed. "We're stuck in here." She coughed some more, and I heard desperate banging on the door.

I turned to the nurse. "No, Fred," she shook her lovely, auburn hair. "The fire fighters will be here any time now. We have to get outta here!"

My eyes then darted across the hall to a window. I grabbed the nurse, threw her over my shoulder, kicked the window in and threw her out of it. She landed in the bushes outside, and apart from what looked like a sprained ankle, she was fine.

But the smoke was getting to me too, and the heat. I threw off my bathrobe and scuttled over to the door. "Talk to me," I shouted. "Are you alive?"

"Yeah," the girl coughed again. "But not for long. Help us!"

I had no other choice than to kick away the burning roof beam, which blocked the exit for them. The burning wood and plaster burned my skin; I could it sizzling, and the heat had almost gotten the better of me. But then, the rafter was far enough away from the door for me to open it. The doorknob burned my fingers almost to the bone, and I curled up in pain before trying again.

This time I was successful, and the young lady and the other five residents occupying the art room crawled out. I got them down to the main foyer and to the open exit, where the others waited, but stopped to cough. My lungs were so full of smoke, and soon, it was as if my mind melted away. I blacked out in the midst of a forest of dancing flames, not feeling, or fearing anything anymore.

* * *

><p>Barbara is crying now, after being served the shorter and less interesting edition of the events. I can hear her through my painless sleep.<p>

"Everybody survived, thanks to Fred," the doctor tells her. "And no one was permanently harmed."

"He saw the asylum as his home, and the inmates there as his family," Barbara replies. "He was just protecting them. But what will happen to them now?"

"Oh, not to worry," the doctor says. "He may be on his deathbed, but still had time for the lawsuit."

"He sued the asylum?" Barbara is surprised.

"Oh, no!" the physician shakes his head. "But apparently the county of Nowhere has to cough up $120 million to the inmates and staff for the sabotage of the Home for Freaky Barbers' electrical wiring. They wanted the place shut down to save money, ironically, at every cost."

"Good; but where does that leave the asylum?"

"A new hospital, bigger and better, is in the building already. I'm surprised you don't know. And Fred bequeathed his part of the settlement to the building of a ward for homicidal children; the Scum of the Earth - ward. The other patients have already given the hospital a name."

"Oh? What is it?" Barbara asked.

Their chat is interrupted by my heart monitor, which now flat lines. I don't pray for my life; it is over, but I find myself fearless in death's embrace.

As for the children of my ward, I do pray for the little ducklings, indeed; I wish for them to find the peace I myself is now drifting towards. May the good man have mercy on their demented souls.

Farewell, dear Aunt, Courage, Eustace and Barbara, my dearest. I will wait for you, until your time comes. As for you, my reader, I bid you farewell. Your attention has been most comforting in my final hour. I hope I haven't tempted you to be…

_Naughty_.


End file.
